Angelo 's and Maxie's, which takes its name from a Lullaby of Broadway lyric, is a New York steak house that doesn't translate to the tropics.

On our first visit, we were made to feel like a couple of stalkers trying to sneak backstage. Two burly bald guys in black suits stopped us in our tracks at the stairs to the second floor, demanding to know where we were going.

"Uhm, to dinner?" my husband answered.

"You can't come up here," bouncer No. 1 said. "It's private."

"Are you on the list?" asked bouncer No. 2.

"We have a reservation," I answered meekly.

A glimmer of comprehension on his face, one of them steered us around a corner to a perky blond hostess who hustled us upstairs to a sparsely populated dining room that looked more like T.G.I. Friday's than a swanky steak house. As if on cue, the staff broke into a tone-deaf rendition of Happy Birthday for another party.

We wanted to order wine by the glass, but found none on the first two lists we were given. Pressed a third time, our fidgety, slovenly waiter produced a small card listing a dozen generic labels but no prices.

"Oh," said Mr. Antsy Pants, whose apron was as rumpled as it was stained. "They're all between something like eight and ten bucks."

Not wanting to make a fuss, we ordered a couple of warm and husky Simi cabernets. Turns out they were $12. Oops.

From the stale pretzel bread to the soggy-crusted pecan pie, the food was as sloppy and unappealing as the Bad News Bears staff.

It began with a Caesar salad that seemed promising, if overly creamy, because it included a nice tangle of anchovies and had been split in the kitchen for us to enjoy separately. After a few forkfuls, however, I bit into what appeared to be a sliver of fish but was a pinky-size shaving of milk chocolate. The manager explained apologetically that the dessert station is next to the salad station. Hmm.

Other oddities included a platter of clams oreganato garnished with an inch-high pile of brown bread crumbs that looked like a miniature pyramid of sawdust. The clams themselves were so overcooked and greasy that one bite of the chewing-gum-rubbery tidbits had us spitting in our napkins. It was the same story with a yellowing side of steamed broccoli that seemed to wither with each glance.

Main dishes were not much of an improvement. Clearly not a connoisseur of meat grades, the waitress on one visit assured us A&M uses only the best "choice" cuts. Though large, our rugged rib-eye was underseasoned, undercooked for medium-rare and slightly chewy.

Coconut-crusted mahi mahi is the kind of dish a high school swim team might serve at the annual luau, with a ring of pineapple at its center and scorched wedges of under-ripe peaches, plums, kiwi and mango surrounding the undistinguished fish.

The "Roumanian" steak -- a decent-size sleeve of skirt steak smothered in teriyaki sauce and bookended by two nicely grilled onions -- is one of the better dishes, but is so sweet it hardly qualifies as dinner. The house steak sauce, largely corn syrup and tomatoes, is another option for those who like sugar with their meat.

One of the best dishes was a juicy if bland burger served on a puffy kaiser roll with crispy lettuce, a decent round of tomato and some nicely melted Cheddar. Also tasty but heart-clutchingly greasy is the disk of hash browns laced with sauteed onions and parsley.

Sweet and sticky desserts -- Oreo cookie ice cream sandwich, cheesecake, chocolate souffle, hot fudge sundae -- were served with coffee so hot it was a good 10 minutes before it was cool enough to sip.

The food, though mediocre, is generously portioned and not outrageously priced, and the cast of characters is unique. But does it add up to a recommendable night on the town? Exit stage left.